


Day in the Life One Shot - Caps

by Feral_Female



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Coffee, M/M, Quiet time in the Hub, fluffy stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2019-01-06 10:49:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12209736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feral_Female/pseuds/Feral_Female
Summary: It’s time for another “Day in the Life” short. They are not part of any major storyline.For those new to me and my world, these one-shots will be short little vignettes- some will be funny, some emotional, some erotic - but all will be either Jack or Ianto showing us the daily little mundane things in their lives, the things that they fight to preserve for us and for them.To quote Rhys Williams- “You do it so people can live their lives. And there’s nothing more important than that.”





	Day in the Life One Shot - Caps

**Caps (Ianto POV)**

(Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

A year ago, I would have lingered at the door of Jack’s office, wavering back and forth about if I should knock or not. If I should enter or not. If the man sprawled out over his desk were sleeping or not. If I should act on the overwhelming need to touch or speak to him.

That was before. Now, I slipped in with the assurance of a lover who would be warmly welcomed to his sanctum. The soft glow from an old gooseneck lamp touched on his dark hair. I was now intimately familiar with the deep, steady breaths he made while sleeping,

Jack did this on occasion. Dropping off to catch twenty minutes here and there as his sleep patterns were ghastly. Or used to be. Now, we both slept reasonably well, if four or five hours at a clip could be considered well. I placed the coffee tray with two mugs and a _cafetière_ on the desk. His head came up, his eyes sharp and clear, his smile off-kilter.

“You’re like a cat prowling around on silent feet. New blend?” He sniffed the air as he stretched his arms over his head then rolled his shoulders and head.

I leaned against the edge of his desk, my sight touching him warmly. “ _Kopi luwac_ ,” I told him.

“Sorry, I’m not buying that you’d bring me a coffee made from beans eaten then shit out by a civet.”

“You know me too well, sir,” I said and got that smoldering look I always got when I used the ‘Sir’ word in the proper way. “I woke up and you weren’t there.”

“Sorry. I was on the phone all night. First it was trying to convince that orange-skinned troll in the White House that I wasn’t tapping his phone.” I gaped at him. “Hand to God,” he added then raised his right hand in the air.

“Lord save us all,” I sighed then poured him a cup before pushing from the desk to begin tidying up his office.

“Right? Then there was a conference call with the Prime Minister about that ‘incident’ over in St. James last week. That took hours to sort through.”

I lifted his greatcoat from the table it had been tossed over. I shook it out then hung it on the coat rack next to his RAF cap that occupied a separate hook. “Did she understand your use of a flamethrower in the middle of a book depository?”

“She was having some trouble coming to grips with the idea that there are bookworms that burrow into a human’s brain and deposit their own information into the frontal lobe.”

“I’d say the several dozen employees who began spouting ancient alien text before they threw themselves from the highest points in Cardiff should have helped ease her into accepting that news.”

“You’d think.” I plucked the cap off the hook then held it to the meager light. The gold oak leaf motif caught the old lamp’s dim glow. “Go ahead and try it on if you want.”

“I’m still waiting for my U.N.I.T. cap,” I commented as I arranged the hat on my head.

“Martha Jones. Voice of a nightingale but can’t keep a secret to save her life.” He took a sip of his coffee, sighed in pleasure, and leaned back in his chair. “Looks good on you.”

I removed it and handed it to its owner. “Looks better on you I’m sure.” I went back to cleaning up the table by the hooks, straightening the papers and pamphlets, tossing a napkin with a coffee ring on it and a wrinkled apple into the bin beside his desk.

“I like it when you clean up. All that bending over and stretching. You’ve got a wonderfully pert ass, Ianto.”

“Must I go fetch that sexual harassment handbook?”

“We have a handbook? And here all this time I was just winging it.”

I smiled to myself then took a seat in the chair by the round table crammed into the corner. The chair was a recent addition. We’d picked it up on a Weevil hunt last week. It was a tossup as to what would be tied to the roof of the SUV- the chair or the Weevil. In the end the chair rode on top. Less likely to get odd looks.

 It was a 40’s art deco chair, refurbished with white faux snake skin. The word ‘tacky’ would best describe it but Jack had to have it. Said it reminded him of an old lover. When pressed, he confessed that yes, the old lover had been fond of snakeskin but would divulge no other secrets. Since the ugly thing had been found on the curb beside a dustbin, and was hideous, I had refused to allow it in my flat. Call me funny that way.

“Tell me about when you got it,” I pressed the man wearing his RAF cap at a jaunty angle.

“I told you that story once and you didn’t believe me.” His gaze was playful as it rested on me. The steady trickle of water running down the tower was soothing. I really enjoyed our time alone here at the Hub.

“That was before I knew you as well as I do now.” He poured me a cup, dressed it up as I liked, and held it over his desk. I leaned up to take it. “Thank you.” He inclined his head then reclined back into his chair. “I’d thought you were teasing me telling me that you’d had it made custom made by Wilfred Gott the Hatter.”

“How long did it take you to Google the fact that the shop never reopened after that buzz bomb destroyed it in 1944?” His eyes were dancing with humor. The man greatly enjoyed teasing those he cared about. I got the lion’s share of ribbing now. Not complaining, mind you.

“Just a moment or two.” I took a small taste of the coffee. “I rather like this blend. It’s got a deep flavor with a touch of caramelized sugar. What do you think? If you like it, I’ll get more in for us.”

“Just for _us_ , huh?” He teased. “It’s delicious, but you know me, I’m just as happy with a regular old cup of Joe as long as you’ve made it.”

I nodded then took another sip. “I’ll order more.”

“And you needed my opinion for what?”

“To make you feel as if you were in charge.”

“Ah,” he chuckled. “Do you really want to hear that story about this cap or were you just being polite?”

“I’d love to hear it again. Now that I know it’s a factual telling and not you spinning a yarn to make a fool out of me.”

“I’d never make a fool out of you, Ianto. First off, it would be impossible. Secondly, I admire your intelligence too much.”

I lowered my cup from my lips. “Thank you. That means a great deal.”

“You’re welcome.” He tossed his big boots onto his desk, balanced the cup of Italian blend on his flat stomach, and settled his attention on me. “I walked into Gott’s Hat Shop the first time in June of forty-two…”

 

**The End**

 

 

 

 


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